As The World Turns On
by GDu2CPm5
Summary: Battered and tired of the world, she was found by the Wolverine. When Logan goes to one of his regular haunts, what he wasn't expecting was to see a kid break up a bar fight as easy as it was for him to win one. She recognizes him by name, his real name, and knows things about him that even he doesn't know. When she is offered two choices, which shall she choose?


**Hey guys, Blaze here. Hope you like the story, but before we start**

_**Disclaimer: I own everything. You know that little voice that talks to you when you're doing something wrong? Yeah? Well, it's yelling at me now.**_

_**Fine. I own nothing.**_

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I stride into the bar confidently, not bothering to throw my hood back, or slink in, like any other place I go to. This's my gig, closest thing that I'd ever had to home. Here, everyone knows me, from my worn black boots to my navy combats and knife sheaths, to my black shirt and leather jacket and up to my strange purple eyes and shoulder length rust red-streaked raven hair.

The doors slam against the walls and heads look up immediately. This isn't like any of the other rigs, everyone here's a fighter and alert. Like me. Some of the newbies narrow their eyes and growl slightly, before paling when the others jab them, but I let them off this time. In my books, everyone's allowed a major screw up before they're dead. Grinning at the people I knew, I walked to the actual bar in the corner of the room.

Slowly, the noise builds back up again, and I slide into my seat at the end of the counter. "Yo Eddie! The usual, and quick."

The barkeeper was a huge hulk of a guy, black, bald and scary as shit. Eddie turns around, in the middle of cleaning a glass. "Who the fuck d'you thi- Oh hey! Kiddo!"

I snort, and cross my arms, but a smile tugs at my lips. I've known Eddie for years, since the first time I ran in here, small and sniveling. Almost immediately, an almost rare steak with a side of fries and small salad slides onto the table, with a plastic knife and fork. I snort again. It was an old joke.

He looks at me expectantly, and I raised the utensils. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this shit you call a knife?"

He shook his head and said, smirking, "Safety for my customers, Zay." But he replaced them with sharp metal ones anyway, even slid over a coke float. Noticing how fast I scarfed down the food he raised an eyebrow. "Another one of your… missions?"

I rolled my eyes, speaking around the food. "I can take care of myself. I'm still breathing, ain't I?"

He shrugged, but mumbled, "Only just," under his breath. I don't think that I was supposed to hear it, but I did, anyway. Enhanced hearing was great.

When I was just getting started on my float, the door slams open again, and the silence was so sharp it coulda cut through the smog and other, less pleasant, smells. It was almost like my kind of silence. Full of either awe, or dislike. And a bit of fear. Never forget the fear. A big guy comes in, not as big as Eddie, at least twice my weight, buff and confident. His dark hair's speared a bit on either side of his head, and he's got neat mutton chops and a sweet leather duster.

I raise an eyebrow at Eddie, and he grins. "New champion."

My eyes flicker to the fighting rink I installed last year, and smirked. I have _got_ to meet this guy. He slides in right next to me, and then I realize what he really is. Wary, alert look in his eyes. Animalistic feel about him. Growly voice. Muscular body. Wolfish grin.

Shit.

A feral.

I'd met another one a couple of years back, Creed. Wasn't that bad of a guy, asked me to join his team. But Magneto gave me the creeps. Scared shitless for a week after that. Since then, we sometimes bumped into each other, sometimes friendly, sometimes not. Remember one time, couple months ago, we met a bar in Vegas. He talked about a little brother, Jimmy or something. Lost his memory 'cause of Stryker, god damn that guy, and was called Logan now.

Eddie passed a beer over to the guy silently, and he slugged half of it down in one gulp. Looking at me openly, I could tell that he was confused as hell.

"What's a kid like you doin' here?"

I shrug, scooping some ice cream into my mouth. "Nothin' much. Hanging 'round a bit."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, in a disbelieving tone. "What, ya waitin' for your dad?"

Eddie was watching out conversation, arms crossed. I scowled at him. "Can you bring me my pack, Eddie? And a couple of 'em sandwiches."

He grabbed a black backpack form under the counter. It had a couple spare changes of clothes, cash, I.D., food and anything else I would need. I had a feeling that I wouldn't be seeing this gig for a while. I slung it over my shoulder. "Got my babies?"

He smirked. "The works."

I grabbed two knives from the bag, worn hilts visible from the sheaths, and exchanged them for the ones on my waist. I could almost feel the feral, Logan's eyes widening, and could _feel_ his shock. He cleared his throat gruffly. I tilted my head. "Yeah?"

He stuck out a hand. "Logan."

I shook it, and felt his rough and calloused hand. "You can call me Zayden, or Zay."

Before he could reply a yell broke out on the other side of a room. I didn't recognize one of the guys, tall, sandy haired and drunked up as hell, but I did know his victim. Eddie growled, but I shook my head. "Nah, Ed, I'll deal with this."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "You sure, kid?"

I stood up, leaving my bag on the counter. "I said, I'll deal with this."

Stalking over to the man I tapped his shoulder, clearing my throat. He whirled around, and I could see the bat shit crazy look in his eyes. "What the fuck, kid?"

Smiling amiably, I said, "Please get off Michael." When he didn't respond, my features morphed into a snarl. "Now."

If he wasn't drunk, he probably would have backed away from the almost predatory look in her eyes, but he was drunk, and stupid as hell, so instead, he sneered. "If you know what's best, _girly, _you'd better get lost."

There was a collective paling of faces around me and the guy. I smirked. Dumbass. "Sure," I said, in my most sickeningly sweet voice. Then I scowled. "After I do this."

I grabbed the guy by his left elbow and right shoulder, before throwing him over my hip and into a wooden table. It smashed, and he lay there, knocked out, a bit of blood trickling outta his mouth. Michael stood up shakily. "'Anks, 'ay." One of his teeth were knocked out.

I shrugged. "Meh." Then turning back to Eddie, I crossed my arms and said in my best pussy-prim lady voice. "I shall be gone, traversing for a small while. If you could please mind my humble establishment during my absence, and ensure that no unearthly brawls take place again, that would be greatly appreciated."

He roared in laughter, and I could hear some of the regulars snickering. "That shit ain't you, Zay."

I grinned, showing off my slightly pointed canines. "No shit, Sherlock. Anyways, if this place is trashed when I get back, you guys are all screwed."

Jake, a twenty-something muscle-man raised his hand while snickering. "Ma'am, where are you going?"

I mock-growled. "Ma'am? Fucking hell Jake! Can't tell you anyways. Business elsewhere. Adios amigos, see ya guys!"

I picked up my bag and walked to the door, but then I suddenly stopped, right at the worn entrance. Turning around, I tilted my head. "Logan… Can you come outside? I need to talk to you."

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Logan was conflicted. The girl wasn't harmless, that's for sure, but there was no way that she could beat him. But why did she want him? Did she know him? In his… before? _Nah, _he decided, _she looked fourteen or fifteen at the most._

When he entered the bar he'd been going for for a week, he had expected the silence and the whispers. He had expected strange looks from the patrons of the bar, and awed looks for his fighting skills. What he didn't expect was a battle-hardy girl sitting at the counter of a well-known bar, talking to the bartender like a friend and breaking up a fight like a pro.

He had questions. What did she mean, _'you can call me Zayden.'_ What was her real name? Where were her parents? Why did she break up the fight? And why the _fuck_ did she have a couple of knives and look like she was about to go to war?

Making up his mind, he pulled out a cigar while trudging over to the girl, who was holding the door open for him. There, he got a good look at her. She wasn't bad looking, pretty fucking hot actually, 'cept for her ever-permanent half-smirk and still developing body. She was lithe and athletic, and had tan skin, shoulder-length black hair streaked with rustic red that was tied into a sloppy ponytail and extremely strange turbulent purple eyes that varied from light violet to a dark indigo. She was wearing a black leather jacket with a hood, black leather fingerless gloves, a plain black tee, navy combats and worn boots.

"Hello?" a voice interrupted drily.

He looked up, startled to be caught staring. Growling slightly, he stepped out, hearing her walk out behind him. He walked over to his truck and leaned on it, puffing on his cigar. She jumped up on the hood and sat on it, bringing one knee up and resting an arm on it. There was silence for a few minutes.

"That's bad for ya, ya know?"

He grunted.

She rolled her eyes. "You're gonna get cancer and whatnot."

He cricked his head, wincing at the cracks before grumbling, "Can't get cancer."

She snickered. "A bit full of yourself, huh?"

He muttered some things that she shouldn't have been able to hear, but she could make out parts of it, like 'brat' and 'little chit'.

A few seconds later she sighed. May as well be out with it now. Act first, think later. That was how she was still alive, anyway. "Healing factor, huh? Probably a feral. And judging on how few ferals there are in this world, I reckon you're probably Creed's little bro. James Howlett."

Logan almost dropped his cigar, and stared at her in shock. How the _fuck_ did this little brat know his name. "How the-?

She shrugged. "Hell do I know your name? Told ya, remember? Your big bro."

He regained his composure, but still felt almost windblown inside. "Victor Creed? You… know him? And about _us_, too?"

She shrugged again, nonchalantly. "Yeah. He's not that bad, once he's alone. And about mutants, well, sure. I mean, I'm one too, so…"

He cleared his throat and stuffed his cigar in his jacket pocket, while getting in the car. Trying to regain some of his 'professionalism', he gruffly told her, "Get in the car. Chuck'll wanna see ya."

She hopped off the hood and slid in next to him. "Prof X, right?" When he nodded, she sat back contently. "Good. I've been planning to talk to him for a while."

He started the truck, determined not to look at her. "The drive's a couple hours. You can sleep, whatever. Just don't make a mess, and don't talk, brat."

She looked at him. "What? You don't want to interrogate me?"

He snorted. "I'll leave that to Chuck. I'll just make sure that I'm there."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Logan tried his best to not look at her, but what with his naturally alert nature, and his feral side screaming at his instincts that she was a danger… it was a little hard.

He didn't know what he felt. Confused? Fuck yeah. Hopeful? Maybe a bit. But he felt something different. Sadness? Pity? He didn't know. His sharp eyes had caught some bruises and cuts, along with a couple of scars, around her wrists, up her arms and even a few near her collarbone and around her neck. Her eyes were old, soldier eyes, and she, well, she wasn't a kid.

Shaking his head, he looked at the road again. _Fuck, Logan, you're turning into a sentimentalist, _he growled to himself. Then he looked to the sleeping girl who was slouched against the window, looking in all sense ordinary and peaceful, before allowing the corner of his mouth twitch into an almost imperceptible smile.

_Only this once, Logan, only this once._

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**_Hope you like- please review!_**


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